


Drowning in his Blue

by SylverRhyme



Category: AntiSeptiplier
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 14:24:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11693532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SylverRhyme/pseuds/SylverRhyme
Summary: I've never seen anything clearly. All the color in the world muted until all I can see are vague shapes outlined in blue and red, always switching between the two so fast it is dizzying. It happens so much, that I never have a name for the other colors. There is a warm, soothing color that reminds me of heat blossoming in my chest, and a cool color that feels like a comforting weight on me, pulling me under in a cool, yet warm dampness I can almost taste on my tongue. But they are only flashes, flickers between red and blue. And grey. Always grey, and black, and white, and it is the world. But now, there is his blue, and it is wondrous.





	Drowning in his Blue

  I've never seen anything clearly. All the color in the world muted until all I can see are vague shapes outlined in blue and red, always switching between the two so fast it is dizzying. It happens so much, that I never have a name for the other colors. There is a warm, soothing color that reminds me of heat blossoming in my chest, and a cool color that feels like a comforting weight on me, pulling me under in a cool, yet warm dampness I can almost taste on my tongue. But they are only flashes, flickers between red and blue. And grey. Always grey, and black, and white, and it is the world. But now, there is his blue, and it is wondrous.

  The first time he touched me, it was an accident. We always keep away from each other, staying only a comfortable distance, only close enough to feel the other's presence like a wave of heat flowing outwards to each other.

  He unnerved me at first, and I him.

  His voice is distorted. It fluctuates in pitch as if great jagged cuts tore their way through his words, leaving him speaking in either a high, almost child-like sound or in a deep, growling, rasping sound that gave the illusion of a great hulking beast awaiting the kill. Somehow, the voices both matched the body. Tall without being overpowering. Muscled without being bulky. Slim without belying weakness. Best of all were the eyes. I see them as black mainly, but sometimes they flash silver and the look in them matches his voice even more. The barely-there sanity, the dark threats that were more akin to promises...they fit him.

  I know my own voice sounds similar to his, though I try to contain it. I speak low, and my voice growls in my chest. When I am angry, it lightens, my articulate way of speaking melts until it is no more controlled than his. He likes it best that way, and often finds a way to push and press against my control until it falls away, and he wallows in that raw chaos left behind.

  And the first time he touched me, it all changed.

  It was an accident, a simple reflex and not an intentional thing. I had been angry, and my voice was rising and falling to the blues and reds around me when his hand caught my wrist. It was a simple touch, my skin against his, but my world shattered.

  It only lasted a fraction of a second, but the world was no longer black and grey and blue and red. The world swam with colors so rich and bright I felt as if I'd been blinded, when really that moment was the first time I'd ever truly seen. And then it was gone as my hand fell slack against my side, no longer held in that hot, almost burning grip. With wide eyes I turned towards him, watched the red and blue I loathed swim over his hand as it usually did my own. But lifting my hand up, I only saw grey. When my fingers moved, the movement was clear and my eyes could track them without catching on the blue and red and it felt like the world was still collapsing around me.

  And then it truly felt like it was crumbling, because he spoke then. It was a simple sentence, yet I could barely understand past the clarity of it. His voice was perfect, smooth and flowing in a way I'd never heard. Best of all were his eyes. They were blue, but not the blue I'd always seen. They were as blue as what I imagined something bright and good would be, and I had no words to describe them as they should have been, and I realized that blue wasn't an ugly thing at all. And as I watched the blue and red fade from him and start to build around me, so too did his voice change to jump between pitches as it had before. And a feeling I had never felt before clutched at my chest, taking my breath and leaving the feeling of drowning in the darkness I suddenly hated. And I wanted to touch him again. I wanted to put my hands to his skin and chase away the red and blue, to find all those blinding, saturated colors from before while I drowned in that voice and in those blazing, bright eyes.

  And in that moment, I realized what fear was and how powerful it's hold was over me, and I fled. I fled deep within myself even as I moved away from him, drawing in the darkness around me and pushing all that blue and red to me until I could barely see the grey, black, and white of my world. Later, when my breath came without pain, I could admit to surrounding myself in blue more than red. I pushed and pulled it around me until I felt I could breathe it in and turn everything as blue as his eyes. And I ran from him when he approached, because I couldn't see those colors and feel those things again without tearing myself apart, and I knew I wouldn't survive the beauty of him if it would only be ripped away again. And so we stayed apart.

  The first time he touched me, it had been an accident, a simple reflex and not an intentional thing. But the second time glowed with the intent in his black eyes before they turned blue and I drowned again.

  I hadn't been able to outrun him like so many times before. And when I turned to find him standing in front of me, I found I couldn't move away again. His black eyes pierced my skin and kept me in place, and I could only try to focus on him as his form flickered in and out of existence. And it occurred to me how similar we were to each other. We were not real beings. Real creations were solid, were capable of touching and understanding what that touch it, were capable of seeing and being seen and understanding what that meant. But he and I were not real creations. Rather, we were thoughts, easily dismissed by the wave of the hand, and yet were were real enough, tangible enough to catch mere moments of understanding when the moment was just perfect. And when he reached towards me, I understood what touching was, and I understood that he did as well.

  I closed my eyes and the feeling of his fingertips touching my cheeks sent a shockwave of feeling down my body, and the sound of his hissed, stolen breath told me he felt it too. And the silence crashed around us until I could only hear his breathing and could only feel the weight of his warm skin on mine. That heat brushed my lips and I opened my eyes to find myself drowning in that blue I never realized I missed so much. And the heat of his thumb brushing my mouth made me want to touch him in turn, and it was all I could do to keep my arms at my sides because that fear was back, choking me, drowning me, reminding me that if I made a mistake and I pushed and pulled too hard, all this beauty around us would crash and I would lie choking on that black darkness that I hated with my very being, wishing with everything that I was that I could drown in that blue, his blue, and not my own.

  Blue and red danced up his arms from the contact between us, and as it left me I watched his eyes widen and I found myself wishing I knew what he could see, wishing I could look through the blue of his eyes to see my reflection and to know what I was without red and blue and grey getting in the way. And blinding colors I had no name for swam around us in shapeless forms I didn't recognize, but I could see was blue as we became real, solid creations in a world that was entirely new to the both of us.

  Now, we rarely do not touch. A brush of a hand against a soft cheek, fingers entwining and holding on like a lifeline, and, even more colorful, the soft press of lips and feeling them becoming solid as the blue and red were chased away by our touch.

  He lays next to me, his hand in mine, and we look up at what he's told me is a sky filled with wondrous white forms called clouds. The soft tickling of green grass touches my cheek as I turn my head to look at him. I study the brown and green of his hair, the soft dusting of silver at his temples. But as lovely as they are, it is not what I want to see. My fingers curl around his hand insistently and he turns towards me and I sigh as that wonderful blue, his blue, drowns me again.

  And we lay in our stolen, solid, saturated glimpse of the world and drown in each other as the clouds drift by, and I think that I never want to see darkness again. I always want to be drowning in his blue.


End file.
